


breeding lilacs

by tomorrowsrain



Series: the waste land [2]
Category: Do No Harm (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Feelings, Fluff, Multi, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 11:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11736030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomorrowsrain/pseuds/tomorrowsrain
Summary: “Four years,” Ruben murmurs, looking awed, and Usnavi’s chest is suddenly tight. “Can you believe it?”“No,” he says. Every day with them still feels like his own private miracle. He doesn’t expect that to change.“I can,” Vanessa counters, firm, and cards her fingers through his hair.[Usnavi, Ruben, and Vanessa celebrate an anniversary. Coda toout of the dead land.]





	breeding lilacs

**Author's Note:**

> I re-watched the In the Heights bootleg with [thisstableground](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thisstableground/pseuds/thisstableground) and [maeflowerpetunia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouswildflower/pseuds/curiouswildflower) and had so many feelings I had to come write this. So please enjoy this little fluffy break from my regularly scheduled programming. 
> 
> Title from T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land.

_Fuck,_ it’s cold. A front blew in off the ocean last night and now his breath hangs heavy in the air when he exhales—the chill sinking through his blankets and sleep clothes straight down to his bones.

He burrows deeper into the blankets with a low groan and Vanessa echoes him, shifting closer and smushing her face into his neck. Which is great, especially when her lips find his collarbone and press in.

“It’s _cold,”_ she huffs, muffled.

“Yes,” he says.

“Power should kick in soon,” Ruben mumbles from his other side and shifts closer, too— _yes._

“I hate winter,” Vanessa says and reaches across him to touch Ruben, too.

It usually isn’t anywhere near this bad—one point for California—but yeah, he agrees. Under his layers, his scars are aching and he wonders if Ruben’s are, too. They’ll probably need to make some more salve soon.

He adds that to the list, right under Check on New Warehouse Storage, which is coincidentally under ANNIVERSARY – CELEBRATE.

And that takes the sting right out of the cold.

“Happy Anniversary,” he announces, ducking under the covers to kiss Vanessa and then squirming around to seal his mouth over Ruben’s too.

Ruben hums into the kiss, parting his lips for Usnavi’s tongue, and fuck it’s good. But then Vanessa gently pulls him away so she can lean over him and kiss Ruben, hand sliding over the back of Ruben’s neck, and that’s even _better._

Nina said that she would leave early with Sonny this morning to give them time to themselves, but Usnavi thinks sex can wait—in spite of the spark of heat curling in his belly as Vanessa tips Ruben’s chin up to give her better access to his mouth.

First, he wants to make them breakfast and just … soak in their presence. In all of them together when a year ago that seemed like a far-off miracle.

“Okay, lovebirds,” he says, sitting up a little and running one hand up Ruben’s side and the other up Vanessa’s. “Time to get on with our scheduled programming.”

Vanessa arches an eyebrow at him. “And what might that be?”

He grins at her. “You’ll see.”

“Four years,” Ruben murmurs, looking awed, and Usnavi’s chest is suddenly tight. “Can you believe it?”

Usnavi thinks of the scars on their skin and the way Ruben still can’t handle super bright sunlight some days and the things Vanessa still can’t speak about—the early days of being trapped here with no way home and no information about her loved ones, watching everything fall apart on TV screens.

“No,” he says. Every day with them still feels like his own private miracle. He doesn’t expect that to change.

“I can,” Vanessa counters, firm, and cards her fingers through his hair. It’s suddenly an effort not to cry, remembering the ache a year ago—huddled with Ruben on a ratty mattress and trying not to grieve. “And it’s still fucking _cold.”_

“I’ll check the power,” Ruben says and slides out of bed like a gallant hero. He shivers and steals the top blanket from the bed to wrap around his shoulders like a cape. His hair is sticking up everywhere and he looks absolutely ridiculous and Usnavi loves him to pieces.

“Thank you, good sir!” he calls as Ruben shuffles out of the room, and then pulls Vanessa back under the blankets.

“Happy Anniversary,” he says again, because it's worth repeating.

Vanessa’s gaze is soft and she runs her thumb over his lips, up to the ridge of his cheek. “We’re all together.”

“Yes.”

“Last year was awful.”

“Yes.” He shifts closer, nuzzling her jaw. “Don’t think about that. I’m here, Ruben’s here, _you’re_ here.”

And that knocks him out for a moment, even though it’s been over six months since they settled in Palo Alto. “You’re _here_.”

“Damn straight,” Vanessa says and kisses him, fierce.

The mattress dips and Ruben’s hands skate over their bodies above the blankets.

“Power’s on,” he says. “Space heater’s going. You can emerge from your cocoons now, butterflies.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Usnavi informs him as he throws the blankets off and sits up.

Ruben gives him a long-suffering look that never gets old. “And where do you think I get it from?”

Usnavi shoves him, playful, and sees Vanessa trying to hide a smile. Her still-short hair is sticking up even more than Ruben’s. He’s never wanted a camera so bad.

 _Right, programming,_ he thinks, pulling his mind back on track. He’s gonna make them breakfast—has been saving up ration cards and hoarding ingredients all week. But first they have another daily ritual to complete.

“Hey,” he says, serious now, and smiles at Ruben, knowing it’s tinged with a little sadness. “Salve?”

Ruben’s gaze goes searching. “You hurting?”

“A little,” Usnavi admits, because he’s promised not to lie about this after what happened two months ago: ignoring the growing ache as the weather got colder, just like he used to in New York, until one morning he woke up after an unexpected cold snap and could barely move he hurt so bad.

“Salve, then,” Vanessa decides and it’s her turn to be the hero because she adds, “I’ll get it.”

She takes Ruben’s blanket cape from his shoulders, nudging him toward her spot in the bed, and Usnavi loves her to pieces, too.

“How are you doing?” Usnavi asks, because Ruben still has more scars than him.

Normally they’re both okay, but they’ve discovered that the weather can be a little more unpredictable here than in New York (especially in the winter) and (according to Ruben) the changes in barometric pressure are probably what’s aggravating their scar tissue—though winters in New York still sucked.

Ruben gives him a slightly stiff smile. “I’m glad you suggested salve.”

Which in Ruben speak means: _I am definitely in pain, but was going to be a stubborn idiot about it._

Usnavi flicks him gently on the forehead. “I got your back, querido _._ Literally and figuratively.”

Ruben snorts in quiet amusement.

Vanessa returns, holding the half-empty jar of salve. It’s an herbal concoction that Ruben taught himself to make. Never had enough ingredients for it to be a regular thing in New York, but out here it’s become a staple.

“You want me to do it?” she asks, sitting cross legged on the bed.

“Yeah,” Usnavi says—still grateful that she’s willing to. He never thought she would be _repulsed_ by his scars, not when she’s never minded Ruben’s (though it was different: Ruben came to them scarred-up and stitched together while Usnavi was whole the last time she saw him and he knows it isn’t an easy change to deal with—his body looking so different), but he wasn’t sure how okay she’d be with touching them a lot.

Essentially, he was being a paranoid idiota and he should have trusted her more. She offers every time.

“Ruben first,” he adds and ignores Ruben’s betrayed frown.

Vanessa beckons Ruben over. The space heater in the corner of the room is doing an awesome job, so Ruben can take off his shirt without being too cold. He twists around so that his back is to Vanessa and Usnavi automatically takes his hand, rubbing his thumb over it in gentle strokes. Ruben gives him a grateful smile.

His back is the worst of his scars: burns and raised lashes with hardly any clear patches of skin. He told them once, a long ago, the broad strokes of what Ian did to him—that he started with this and then made Ruben lie on the wounds while he worked over his front. It still makes something seethe in Usnavi’s chest if he thinks about it for too long, even though he’s pretty sure Ian and Jason are long dead. There was even less left of Philadelphia than New York, and the hospitals were the first to go.

He hopes they got torn to pieces.

Vanessa keeps her moves quick and efficient, applying enough pressure to keep Ruben grounded without lingering too much. She was hesitant, the first few times they did this, but she’s got a practiced rhythm down now and soon she’s twirling her finger for Ruben to turn around. Usnavi lets go of his hand so he can move, noticing the tension in his shoulders. His back may be the worst of it, but he’s more self-conscious about his front for some reason.

Probably due to the I shaped scar carved just above his hip. “Ian’s calling card,” Ruben called it once, bitter. And then added, “I’ve thought about burning it off,” and Usnavi had felt his heart tear and bleed.

“I’ve got you,” Vanessa is saying now, steady, and Ruben smiles at her.

“I know,” he says, equally steady.

Vanessa does the worst of it first—his hip, his stomach, the few scars on his chest—and then moves on to his shoulders and arms, ending with the rings around his wrists.

“There,” she announces and Ruben kisses the corner of her mouth in silent thanks.

“Your turn,” he says, nudging Usnavi. He keeps his shirt off, giving the salve a chance to sink in, and Usnavi tugs his own over his head.

It goes faster with him. Vanessa spreads the salve along his side—the big, thick scar that aches the worst in the cold—taking time to massage the raised scar tissue and work it in deep. Then she does his wrists, too: the scars that almost match Ruben’s. His stomach next and he shivers, a little ticklish in spite of how good it feels to have the pain soothed.

His shoulder is the toughest. It hurts every time it rains and gets stiff easily, preventing a full range of movement. There's some nerve damage, too, in his hand and arm, which Ruben’s agonized about numerous times: not being able to provide surgery for him fast enough. Usnavi always insists that the doctors in Grand Junction fixed the worst of it and he doesn’t blame Ruben at all and Ruben can shut up now.  

Vanessa digs her fingers in deep and he hisses, but it’s good, it helps. It was way stiffer than he realized and he sighs when Vanessa’s done, rotating it carefully.

“Good?” Vanessa asks, eyeing him critically for any signs of pain.

“Good,” he declares.

“Good,” Ruben echoes and they all smile at each other like lovesick saps.

(It’s perfect.)

“Right,” Usnavi says, clapping his hands together. “Breakfast!”

“I’m taking it we’ve got a surprise in store?” Vanessa asks.

They all agreed on no gifts this year, due to still limited resources, but this is more of a tradition than a gift and he hasn’t made it for them in two years, so.

“Yep!” He kisses her cheek, ruffles Ruben’s hair, and pulls his loose shirt back on. “Follow me, hermoso y hermosa _,_ and park yourselves at the table, please.”

Ruben also puts his shirt back on and Vanessa keeps the blanket cape as they trail after him into the main room. Ruben, the saint, turned the space heater on in here, too, and Usnavi breathes a sigh of relief at the warmth. They still have an hour before the rolling blackouts start to preserve power, so he’s gonna bask while he can.

He excepts them to take separate seats at their little kitchen table, but Vanessa sits down in Ruben’s lap and tucks her face into his neck and it’s so adorable Usnavi’s heart wants to burst.

God, both of them here. He’ll never be over it.

It’s raining outside, a dull, soothing rhythm on the roof, and he hums quietly to himself as he digs ingredients out. Some of them were a bitch to get, especially the plantains (had to trade three ration cards for two off a supply truck coming from some of the farms down south), but he managed them all.

He arranges them on the counter and starts the battered kettle going to heat water for coffee.

He knows this recipe by heart—could cook it with his eyes closed, probably—and it will always make him think of Abuela Claudia, singing along with the radio as she swayed in front of the stove, but these days it’s with warmth instead of grief. He thinks she would be happy with the new tradition he’s established for the meal.

(And it still aches from time to time, that she never got to meet Ruben, because oh, how she would have _loved_ him, but he hopes she’s watching and he hopes she knows.)

He sets a pot to boil on the stove for the plantains, then starts cutting up the salami. The cheese and eggs take the least amount of time, so always go in last. He gets lost for a while in the flow of it: slice, boil, sauté, check temperatures, pour, mash. Pauses to brew coffee and set two steaming mugs on the table for Vanessa and Ruben.

They’re both looking sleepy, lulled by the warmth, but they smile at him and Vanessa drags him in for a kiss when she tastes the cinnamon.

“You’re making Los Tres Golpes _,_ aren’t you?” she asks when he gets to the eggs and cheese, setting them going in two separate pans.

“Yep,” he says, popping the P loudly, and she gives a quiet cheer.

"How on earth did you find everything?” Ruben asks, amazed.

“I’m magic,” Usnavi says, throwing a wink over his shoulder.

“I’ll say,” Vanessa agrees and moans into Ruben’s neck. Ruben flushes. “It smells so good, fuck.”

Usnavi grins, pleased, and flips the eggs.

Five minutes later everything is ready. It’s much smaller portions than he would usually make (rationing is a bitch, sometimes) but should still be good. Vanessa and Ruben are looking appropriately reverent, anyway, as he sets the plates down in front of them and refills their coffee.

“I love you,” Ruben murmurs, staring down at the food with wide eyes.

“Heart and soul,” Vanessa adds. “You even managed the plantains and cheese, Jesus.”

“You can thank me later,” Usnavi says with an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows.

“I will,” Vanessa says. “Thoroughly.”

And now it’s _his_ turn to flush. He keeps expecting the novelty of sex with both them again to wear off, but it hasn’t so far—even if they’re still a little more careful with each other than they used to be. Maybe because they also don’t have nearly as much of it as they used to. Hard when you’re sharing a pretty tiny two-bedroom apartment between five people and alone time isn’t really a thing.

He doesn’t mind, though. It’s good, he loves it, but it isn’t nearly everything. Most nights, just crawling in bed between them and letting their warmth coax him to sleep is more than enough. They all run themselves a little ragged, as well, between the lab and the supply center and the radio station—so intimacy has mostly become lazy make out sessions with lots of touching and that’s perfect, too.

They’re his private miracle and he’ll have them any way he can.

He tangles his legs with theirs under the table and raises his chipped mug in a toast. “To four years.”

“Four years,” Vanessa and Ruben echo and clink their mugs against his own.

(His heart is so fucking full.)

Vanessa takes a bite of her food and groans, just shy of pornographic. Usnavi feels her on a spiritual level. He forgot how _good_ salami tastes. And _plantains._ God, he’s missed plantains. This is already the best day ever.

Ruben is quiet, but he looks distant and thoughtful as he chews—like he’s on another plane of existence—so Usnavi figures he gets it, too.

 

_ _

 

Vanessa and Ruben insist on doing the dishes when they’ve finished. Usnavi goes to chill on the sofa and watch the rain make patterns on the window panes, and after a few minutes, the floorboards creak and Ruben is sinking down on top of him.

He hums, pleased, and shifts up seal their mouths together, shivering happily when he feels Vanessa’s fingers in his hair.

“What are we doing today?” he asks when they part, tilting his head further back to look upside down at Vanessa.

“It’s raining,” Vanessa says.

“Which means we should stay inside,” Ruben says.

“And it’s cold.”

“So, bed?”

“Or we could bring blankets out here.” They both turn to look at him, waiting for his input.

He hesitates. He likes the big windows of the living room—the view of the distant, grey ocean—but on the other hand the cozy warmth of the bed is nice.

“Bed is better for sex,” he says, though he isn’t sure that’s an answer.

Ruben’s teeth scrape soft and careful down his neck. “That doesn’t have to happen right away, cariño _._ ”

“We’ve got all day,” Vanessa adds.

“Then out here for now,” Usnavi decides.

He just wants to _be_ with them for a while: cuddle on the sofa and watch the rain and maybe listen to the radio or Ruben read. Ruben has the _best_ reading voice, though it’s been ages since they’ve taken the time. And then maybe kiss them a lot and let his hands wander and _then_ take them to bed.

“Awesome,” Vanessa says, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll get blankets.”

Ruben sits up and Usnavi follows, tucking himself against Ruben’s side. “Read for us?”

Ruben smiles, all soft and tender, and says, “sure.”

“Poetry,” Usnavi decides because usually the meanings and the metaphors are beyond him, but he likes the way the words sound in Ruben’s voice—the way his mouth looks forming them.

“Sure,” Ruben agrees and kisses his shoulder.

They have books stacked up under the windows, arranged on shelves of old plank wood and concrete blocks. Ruben’s plants sit along the top shelf, leaves climbing up onto the glass panes—the start of his new garden.

Ruben fishes a careworn paperback from the bottom shelf as Vanessa remerges with blankets.

“Ruben’s reading to us,” Usnavi declares and she grins.

“Yes.”

Ruben stands, two hot points of color on his cheeks that always show up when they praise him.

“Okay,” he says and sinks back onto the couch. They take a moment to arrange themselves and get the blankets situated.

“You know,” Vanessa says once they’re comfortably cuddled together. “If someone said to me this was how I’d be spending an anniversary five years ago, I would have laughed at them.”

Their first anniversary was a night out at the club followed by several spectacular rounds of sex and on their second they went into the city and splurged to get drunk at a nice bar, so he understands.

“We’ve gotten old,” he teases her.

He expects her to laugh or smack his arm, but she shakes her head—something vulnerable creeping over her face. “I love it,” she says quietly, like they might not be meant to hear. “It’s perfect.”

Ruben makes a sound of agreement and kisses her temple, and Usnavi suddenly has to blink back a wave of tears.

It _is_ perfect and he doesn’t regret it: this strange, unexpected phase of their lives. Blankets and tea and books and plants and dancing slow and subdued to a static-laced radio on their rare evenings off—like a personal forest they’re cultivating out of the devastated earth.

He has scars and nightmares that he’s collected; he still feels hunger pangs from time to time—rationing not quite enough; he still misses the bodega every now and then; and he can’t linger too long at any of the memorial walls. But there is Ruben and Vanessa and Nina and Sonny. There is an apartment and a relatively peaceful city. There is work that makes him feel important and worthwhile—able to give back to society more than he ever thought he could. There is coffee from a kettle in the mornings and lingering kisses at night. There is the ocean and the rain on the window and the soft wave of Vanessa’s hair and Ruben’s slender fingers curled gentle over the spine of a poetry book.

It’s enough.

“Read to us?” he asks Ruben, keeping his voice low to preserve the peaceful hush that’s descended.

Ruben nods and cracks open the book. Starts to read.

“ _Quiero no saber ni soñar._

_Quién puede enseñarme_

_a no ser, a vivir sin seguir viviendo?_

“ _Cómo continúa el agua?_

_Cuál es el cielo de las piedras?”_

Usnavi closes his eyes and rests his head on Ruben’s shoulder, soaking up the cadence of his voice without paying much attention to the words.

“ _Inmóvil, hasta que detengan_

_las migraciones su apogeo_

_y luego vuelen con sus flechas_

_hacia el archipiélago frío.”_

Ruben turns the page with a faint crackle and keeps going. Usnavi vows to speak more Spanish to him, because it falls so gorgeous from his mouth.

“ _Inmóvil, con secreta vida_

_como una ciudad subterránea_

_para que resbalen los días_

_como gotas inabarcables:_

_nada se gasta ni se muere_

_hasta nuestra resurrección,_

_hasta regresar con los pasos_

_de la primavera enterrada,_

_de lo que yacía perdido,_

_inacabablemente inmóvil_

_y que ahora sube desde no ser_

_a ser una rama florida.”_

Vanessa shifts and throws her legs over their laps. The pages of the book crackle again as Ruben moves to another poem, and it’s enough.

It’s good.

 

_ _

 

Eventually, Ruben’s voice gets tired and they move on, shifting into each other like magnets. Usnavi gets lost easy in the curl of Ruben’s tongue against his and the hot press of Vanessa’s lips to the top of his spine. Lets Vanessa take off his shirt and parts his legs for Ruben’s hand slipping beneath his waistband to smooth over his hip and then lower still.

“We need to thank you for breakfast,” Vanessa murmurs, pressing kisses to the tender spot behind his ear. “What do you want, babe?”

 _Anything you'll give me,_ is usually his answer, but he understands they’re probably looking for specifics.

He tries to get his scattering thoughts to coalesce into something coherent, but it’s hard with Ruben stroking him slow and agonizing.

“Uh … can you, do you want to fuck me?” he asks Vanessa and then cups a hand to the back of Ruben’s neck. “And you … my mouth? After? Or if you want more…” It’s not something he usually offers, but today he doubts he’d mind: having Ruben inside him.

Ruben moves his hand back to Usnavi’s waist, ignoring his whine of protest, and kisses him, deep. “We’ll figure it out.”

And that sounds like a great plan.

 

_ _

 

Round one happens a little rushed and a heated—picks up speed fast and never slows down. Vanessa lays him out on the bed, sinks down onto him, and he shakes, shakes, _shakes_ because she’s still one of the best things he’s ever felt. He tells her that: runs his mouth about how beautiful she looks, how good she feels, how much he _loves her_ until Ruben kisses him and swallows up the words.

He arches up into the kiss—comes with one hand fisted in Ruben’s hair and the other clutching Vanessa’s thigh, and it’s so fucking good.

He watches, sated and a little fuzzy, as Vanessa and Ruben move together: Ruben’s fingers sliding between Vanessa’s legs and Vanessa’s arm possessive across his back, pulling him flush against her.

“Yeah?” he asks, sounding nervous and elated and at her nod, he shifts and sinks into her with a sobbing breath and _fuck,_ Usnavi will never get tired of seeing them together, of watching the curve of Ruben’s spine and the rhythm of their hips and the way Vanessa’s hair sticks to her cheeks.

They’re perfect and they’re _here_ and he doesn’t have a voice for everything he’s feeling.

 

_ _

 

Round two is slower. They build up to it with lazy kisses and hands skimming over waists and hips and thighs. He shakes all over again at the heat of Ruben’s mouth and fingers around him. Lets Ruben take him apart before doing the same to Vanessa—her hand tightening in his hair with every slow flick of his tongue.

After, they take turns touching and kissing Ruben—alternate hands and mouths on him until he’s a trembling mess. Drink up every wrecked sound he makes before he shatters, and then splurge on a rare shower, taking turns washing each other’s hair and bodies before putting on fresh clothes and tumbling into a sleepy heap in the middle of the bed.

“That was,” Usnavi mumbles and trails off into a strangled groan that he thinks accurately conveys his feelings.

Ruben grunts in agreement and Vanessa pats his head, half-asleep already.

“I love you both,” she mumbles into the pillow. “Te amo. Me allegro de que estés aquí. _”_

“Yo también,” Usnavi agrees and turns to cuddle up against Ruben’s back, reaching across him to rest a hand on Vanessa’s waist. “And I love you, too.”

“Te quiero tanto _,_ ” Ruben says and wiggles further under the covers. “Now shhh.”

Usnavi laughs, clean and warm and satisfied. Later he’s sure there will be dinner and maybe some dancing and _maybe_ a round three, but for now he’s content to let his eyes drift closed and his mind sink into sleep.

The rain drums, a steady lullaby, and he’s content.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem Ruben reads is "Estación inmóvil" by Pablo Neruda. 
> 
> English Translation: 
> 
> I would know nothing, dream nothing:  
> who will teach my non-being  
> how to be, without striving to be?
> 
> How can the water endure it?  
> What sky have the stones dreamed?
> 
> Immobile, until those migrations  
> delay at their apogee  
> and fly on their arrows  
> toward the cold archipelago.
> 
> Unmoved in its secretive life,  
> like an underground city,  
> so the days may glide down  
> like ungraspable dew:  
> nothing fails, or shall perish,  
> until we be born again,  
> until all that lay plundered  
> be restored with the tread  
> of the springtime we buried–  
> the unceasingly stilled, as it lifts  
> itself out of non-being, even now,  
> to be flowering bough.
> 
> If you like, you can find me on [tumblr](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com).


End file.
